


shadow nights will last forever

by sleepywoods



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepywoods/pseuds/sleepywoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of pan-centric/(character)+pan drabbles and prompt fills. tags will be updated as i go!</p><p>please check chapter titles for the "pairing" for that addition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warm (Felix+Pan, Rated G)

**Author's Note:**

> The first snowfall _was_ Felix's only reminder that he had a birthday.

Felix was born in December, a boy born of Capricorn during the first flakes of winter’s snow.

 

The way he knows this is simple: before Felix was lost, really lost, the only real memory he has that could resemble pleasant was a particular night. Father had succumbed to sleep after a long night of inebriation and nonsensical anger, but Mother remained conscious if only to straighten out both the physical and emotional damages he’d left behind.

 

She saw Felix shivering as he looked out the window; the snow was heavy but quiet - coated the outside beyond their cottage with a great four-five inches within an hour’s time - and, as any mother would, she smiled and draped a blanket over Felix’s lithe form.

 

"Did you know?" she asked with a peck to his cheek, "You were born during the first snowfall of the season. You were so warm when I held you, I thought it was Summer."

 

Felix didn’t know what to make of the idea, but it still made him smile. He watched her face when he asked in turn, “Is it my birthday?”

 

There was no happiness in Mother’s honest face in retrospect, but Felix couldn’t detect it then. She nodded and brought her arms around him, guiding him close. “Oh, Felix, it is. And I’m so sorry I can’t give you more.”

 

But he didn’t mind that Mother couldn’t give anything material in turn. He enjoyed her love and therefore tolerated Father’s lack thereof. Felix was ten then, and that was the last time she was there to remind him. In the following years, only the snow did.

——

It doesn’t snow in Neverland.

 

So, consequently, Felix first forgets about the snow, then his birthday.

 

He stops counting because counting means that he’s growing up, and why does he need to count, anyway, when there is no future?

 

That is, until one day, Pan reminds him.

 

"You’re a winter boy, Felix," Pan decides (or figures, Felix can’t tell) one day, not looking up from the arrow he’s currently crafting.

 

Felix doesn’t, can’t, argue, but he can’t help but wonder, “Why winter?”

 

Pan only grants him a glance, setting down the arrow he’s working on as he smirks. “You present yourself as ice, but a touch could melt you,” he says, putting a hand over Felix’s working one. Takes the makeshift dagger right out of his fingers deliberately, paying special attention to the way it Felix doesn’t seem to let go entirely - just lets unsanded wood slip through the calloused pads of his hand.

 

Felix doesn’t say anything, uncertain if this is another one of Pan’s compliments or praise or the start of some other game he’s entirely unprepared for. When the weapon is in Pan’s hands, the boy king says, “Your hand is warm. I wonder what will melt you first, this island, or yourself?”

 

Felix smiles, rolling his shoulders lightly as he picks up another block of wood. “Whatever it is, won’t be happening anytime soon.”

 

Pan laughs. “Good, because when the time comes, Felix, it will be I who will undo you.”

 

Whatever Pan means by that, Felix doesn’t question it, doesn’t know what to make of it and accepts it, even, because after his Mother, Pan is the only family he needs, wants.

 

"Wouldn’t have it any other way."


	2. Girls (Implied Peter/Wendy, Rated G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is at least one thing Peter understands about girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: pan's inner (outer) monologue after wendy storms off in anger, and his missed opportunity to make her stay.

There are two types of girls in all the realms, Pan has come to notice: the kind who speaks too honestly, their tongues unfiltered — the other, so hardhearted they’re essentially unreadable.  
  
  
 _Wendy Darling is neither of them._  
  
  
When she storms off, his hand ghosts after her, though his feet remain rooted where they are. Wendy is a foolish girl, but she’s far from moronic. Knows very well that with a wave of a hand, he can pull her back — with another, she’d be in his arms. And, after a final wave, she would regret ever  _thinking_  of leaving the way she has.  
  
  
But Pan doesn’t indulge on impulsives, precisely because he isn’t as completely deficient when it comes to girls, to  _patience_ , as some try to make him out to be. That would be losing, going after her. To let her know it affects him (it’s not the  _losing her_ that affects him; it’s the  _losing control_ ) — he lets her lose herself in the depths the forest, unconcerned about where she may end up. He feels the steps on his soils as a breeze would tickle the hairs on his arm — she can’t go far out of his line of senses.  
  
  
Felix, keen to Pan's inner turmoils, steps up from behind him, his expression a mixture of amusement and concern as he looks into the direction Wendy had run off to.  
  
  
“You sure you wanna leave her off in the wilderness like that?” he asks.  
  
  
Pan almost considers ignoring the question and let his mirth do the answering for him. He likes games, puzzles, and being maddeningly cryptic — but he decides, he likes the sound of his voice too much  _not_  to reply. He exhales through his nose before glancing up at the boy. “Wendy’s a clever girl. She’ll find her way.”  
  
  
When he looks back, he can feel she’s already reached the path that leads to the lagoon. Knows it provides the most privacy, and the closest she can get from going off his radar because the Echo Caves are too far for her bare feet to carry her.

  
“Felix, have I ever told you the reason why we don’t have girls in Neverland?”  
  
  
Felix is looking down at him, genuinely intrigued. “Other than the fact that they’re clever?”  
  
  
“People want,” he responds with a smirk, starting toward the path before turning around to face the boy, his arms flying open.  


“Girls want  _more_.”


	3. Felix the Cat (Peter/Felix, Rated Teen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They call it depression; Peter calls it having enough of people’s shit. Cats sounds more fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: panlix au in which felix works at an animal shelter and pan wants to adopt a cat to combat his teenage depression.

The only reason why Peter has thought about continuing his education beyond high school is because it’ll give him more opportunities to get away from the cold. Aside from that, there’s really no reason why he’d remain in Storybrooke. Many smaller issues aside, the biggest offender is the simple truth that the town’s  _boring_. It’s dull to the point where it sucks the life out of Peter sometimes and gives it to people like Ms. Charming and her husband, the town’s Sheriff.  _  
_

It makes him sick.

 

But the nurse had called it ‘depression,’  to which he also thinks is utter bullshit. There’s one thing that’s arisen from his ‘diagnosis’ — his father is  _very_  receptive to the idea of adopting a pet (a cat, Peter has decided). Not because he’s a loving, caring father — the man is more a phantom figure of the household instead of the rumored head — but because if it keeps Peter occupied, it’ll keep him out of trouble (ha ha, real funny), which means the teachers would stop calling his pop. They’ll stop bothering him about his attendance and grades and whatever he did and conveniently forgets when his father is forced to pick him up after being bruised and bloody from some fight, resulting in suspension. School is important, though, and his father is influential. Peter never gets to stay out of it for too long. 

 

Father has stopped asking  _What now?_  and or saying things like  _Jesus fucking Christ, Peter, I don’t have time for this!_ Which is nice because Peter hates sounding like a broken record. “ _It’s boring here. I’m trying to liven it up, pops._ ”

 

But no, that isn’t important. He should start looking for something less… impermanent. Friends. Loyal ones that aren’t just friends by name. That won’t forget after the bell rings, or attempt to sully each other’s names in hushed breaths. Besides, there isn’t enough loyalty to go around a group of high schoolers. Even Peter understands that. But if what he has to look forward to in adulthood is stress, white hairs and angry phone calls, he isn’t looking forward to being adult.

 

The important thing is, dogs and cats can be more loyal than teenagers. They can also grow old, just like humans do, but they don’t look or act it. There’s something appealing about that. 

 

(His father called it a Peter Pan complex when he’d whined about it over dinner one day, and he laughed about the irony of it. Thinks it’s his father projecting his regret.)

 

The shelter is about the only place Peter hasn’t set foot in, and he has no legitimate explanation for it. All he knows is once he steps in, the door chimes, and he suddenly knows what cats smell like. There’s a stench of  _animal,_  and it makes his brows furrow and scrunch his face without ever intending to.

 

But the boy behind the counter seem to take notice of him, looking up just from the birdcage he appears to be repairing. He rolls his toothpick to the corner of his mouth, recognition in his eyes. “Oh. Need help with anything?”

 

Peter doesn’t know the boy beyond his name and face. They both attend the same school, after all — shared a single class together, but they never spoke. Never had any reason to, and the older boy, Felix, is a grade above him. Out of their mandatory uniform (which Peter still wears — a fitted, dark v-neck sweater, lime collared shirt and dark pants), he sports an unzipped maroon hoodie, rolled up to his forearms, a plain cotton t-shirt beneath it, and a scarf that looks like it’s coiled around his neck as an afterthought rather than something he’d deliberately picked out of his closet.

 

Felix sets the cage aside (Peter sees on its railing is a stickered tag.  _Hello, my name is Darling_.  _Let me sing you a song!_ ), folds his arms over each other and leans his weight against the counter.

 

It’s like an invitation to Peter, and he makes a point to ignore chirping and the water filters in the fishtanks and the lost looks of dogs and cats behind the glass in every corner of his peripherals that would normally distract him to approach the counter. “Perhaps. Thinking about getting a friend.” 

 

"A new friend, huh?" Peter likes the way he drags his words out — like he’s thinking as he’s speaking. Likes the ways he clicks the toothpick against his teeth as he looks around. He can see his jaw set when his molars keep the toothpick in place, then chew. Serious oral fixation problem, this Felix has.

 

Peter shakes his head. “That implies I have friends before it,” he corrects, slightly canting his head. Felix looks back at him, and Peter has to wear a smirk so at least to let the boy know he isn’t bothered or saddened by it.

 

Felix stands tall, straightening his back. The way he normally slouches makes him forget how tall he actually is. The older teen takes the pick out of his mouth, holding it between his thumb, fore and middle fingers as he would a cigarette when he replies. Suddenly, his oral fixation makes sense. So Felix’s a smoker, huh? “Funny. Thought you had a whole legion of them.”

 

He doesn’t blame him for the assumption. Peter talks to everyone and generates  _friendliness_  sometimes, when he’s not terrorizing them, but at the end of the day, they’re nothing but objects and victims of his boredom. Peter wouldn’t call them friends. “Acquaintances. Most believe I play a  _touch_  too rough, you see.”

 

It makes Felix laugh. He thinks he’s joking, probably. It’s a half-truth and a half-joke. “Well, why not start with a dog?”

 

Peter makes a face, pursing his lips and squinting his eyes. Does it for the dramatic effect, really; he isn’t thinking  _that_  deeply. ”Nah, I think I’m in the mood for a cat.”

 

"That works too," Felix agrees, placing the toothpick back into his mouth. His tone indicates that he doesn’t sound convinced. With a grin, he begins to look into the direction of the cats in the shelter, tapping the counter idly before he moves from his spot, gesturing to follow. "Peter the cat guy. Let’s see what we can find you."

 

The grin is mirrored with one satisfied one of his own, and he follows. “This coming from Felix the Cat. Now I’m  _confident_  I’m in good hands.”

 

Felix stops his tracks and turns his upper body to look  _down_ at him, his grin now accompanied with an amused arch of his brow. Peter isn’t too particularly fond of having to cant his head in order to level with eyes. “Felix the cat? That’s old.”

 

"All the more suiting, don’t you think?" Peter replies, hi smirk present, entirely too pleased that Felix understands the reference. He doesn’t know how old Felix is. Seventeen, eighteen — probably the latter, but he looks older, especially when he’s in the formal wear regulated by the school.

 

His response comes as a breath, a soft  _hah_  then a wide grin trails after it. “Now it just sounds like you want to adopt me.”

 

And Peter can’t help but be charmed by it. Felix’s smile is contagious; there isn’t enough surface area on his face to fit the full width of his mouth. It’s so delightfully C _heshire_ of him.

 

He suddenly forgets about why he’d come in the first place — reminds himself that he’s there for a friend. But now Peter desires a different kind of friend — who one will act and react, who will talk and laugh, who doesn’t look upon him as the rest of the student body seem to. He wonders if Felix would object to the idea, and tests by stepping closer, in which the other boy responds by turning his body fully to face him. Peter moves a hand over his chest, right where he’s clipped the metal, and he thumbs over the groove that spells his name.

 

His voice is whisper when he challenges — “Can’t I, Felix?”

 

The smile falters only a bit - Peter pays special attention to his lips for that drop of disapproval or  _something_  - moving his chin as his brows knit and the toothpick between his lips slide from one corner to the other in quiet consideration. Felix must be wondering if he’d been serious, because his eyes say he’s searching, too. He hasn’t taken his eyes off him.

 

 ”No can do,” he answers finally, his gaze flickering toward the front desk.  ”This one’s manning the shop ‘til closing.”

 

A smirk teases at the corner of Felix’s lips, and that’s all Peter needs. The tiniest expressions can mean  _so_  much at their proximity. Felix is older, he should  _know_.

 

"And no doubt this one will be busying himself with  _better_  things in his after hours?”

 

Felix shifts in his position, though the movement of the subject of his oral fixation suffers a hiccup, just like the smile had. Something’s definitely brewing under that blond mess of hair, and Peter’s delighted by it, lifting his chin smugly. 

 

"I’m — sure something can be arranged," Felix says, his tone still monotonous. Peter can surmise it’s done deliberately as opposed to the natural alternative. 

 

"Hm." With a full inhale of breath, Peter raises his brows, moving past him and letting his finger drag across Felix’s chest as he does so, stepping toward the window where the crates containing cats are lined behind. "Well, in the meantime, let’s see if any of these other cats prove more interesting than the one I’m currently considering."

 

He can hear Felix chuckle behind him as he steps up next to him. “Why not both?”

 

"Hah, actually — I heard that the average lifespan of a cat is around fifteen years. Maybe less," he says without looking at the older teen, "I’ll just be hitting my mid-life crisis when it dies."

 

Peter figures he’ll be around his father’s age, actually, and it’s a souring thought. “When this cat inevitably passes, I wonder if you’ll still be there.”

 

"You’ve put some serious thought into this, huh?" Felix laughs, sounding noncommittal. 

 

"Certainly. After all, you’re a friend," Peter replies, glancing up at Felix. 

 

Peter notices that Felix likes to take his time to think about choosing his words. He doesn’t blurt out his answers and he definitely isn’t impulsive. Still, he seems to be adventurous where it counts.

 

Felix chews idly on his toothpick, and Peter is surprised it’s still in one piece. “All right. Sure, I’ll be there.”

 

Which seems like simple reply for the amount of time it’d taken him to deliberate on it. Peter knows exactly what he’s saying — it’s a more straight answer to  _Will you still be there_ _?_ that Peter was wondering just moments ago. “Excellent.”

 

But he can’t help but take their game to the next level, the game that Felix doesn’t know he’s playing. He moves in front of him, reaching up and having to stand on his toes to slowly — ever-so-slowly — take the toothpick from Felix’s mouth with his own, his eyes locked onto Felix’s once his teeth secured the object, pulling.

 

Felix is holding his breath but Peter can still smell the cigarette on him, and he watches intently as Peter takes the pick from his own mouth with his fore and middle fingers, winking.

 

"Now, your place or mine?"


	4. Face Value (Peter/Hook; Rated M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s happened to us, Killian? Used to be so close, you and I,” he says as he begins to stroke, slowly but surely waking him. “You’ve gone terribly soft.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because there needs to be more captain pan in this world. the "prompt" was captain pan while pan is in "going home" mode.

Never in the three hundred years of  _knowing_  Peter Pan has Killian ever forgotten how truly malicious is beneath that youthful exterior. He hasn’t made that mistake since that fateful day when he and his brother arrived on Neverland’s shores, fresh off a raft from the Jewel of the Realm — when Peter Pan introduced himself more a boy native of the island than the demon that lied (and still lies) dormant deep in the crevices of his nearly-nonexistent heart.

 

But he makes the mistake anyway, when he’d turned down Pan’s ‘generous’ offer however many nights ago near that peak. And it would have involved killing Charming. It would have broken Snow White’s heart, then the Evil Queen who would then know for sure Pan wasn’t  _only_  playing games. It would have ended with Henry dead, but  _hell_  it would have resulted with her in his arms, because begrudgedly, Pan does follow through with his deals, vicious as they appear. He’d thought perhaps Pan had finally failed, that leaving Neverland against all odds was proof of that. Henry in the Captain’s quarters, Rumplestiltskin trading places with Pan, Bae — no, Neal — being reunited with the family. Everyone becoming  _whole_  again, as though a happy ending had been close in his horizons.

 

He makes the mistake because Pan had been there the entire time, and he’s out for blood. He rubs salt to his wounds and  _wants_ him and everyone around him to regret it. That's their price for underestimating Peter Pan.

 

Pan’s lithe form betrays exactly what he’s capable of. Killian has stopped trying to squirm against the secure grip those fingers has around his neck. They’ve had this dance too many times in the past; he knows it’s useless, that his own patience never beats that of Pan’s. That the only thing he can do is wait, participate and reciprocate. He has to swear on the Jolly Roger's name that he won't let his true emotions betray his act, because that's what Pan  _feeds_ upon.

 

And while his heart is already set on Emma —  _N_ _o_ , he’s thinking vehemently,  _ **do not**  think of her_ — aside from pirate, Killian Jones is but a man. His body has already responded, and his cock,  _Gods_ , he can’t help a buck of his hips to the slick touch of Pan’s hand, so delicate compare to the one that can snap his neck if the demon truly wanted to, and he _would_ if Killian manages to say the wrong (or right; there is no real method to Pan's madness) things. There is a small part of him that wishes he would and a larger part that's still latched on to the survival instincts Pan loves so much.

 

Killian squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling a gasp as though to keep the boy on top of him the satisfaction of the sounds he’s making, and presses his head against the foliage and dirt. Wishes he can decompose right here and then along with the autumn leaves if it means he won’t have to the guilt and disgust he has for himself forming a knot deep within him.

 

He can feel Pan move further down his body, and his dark chuckle creates drafts of hot air against his exposed groin. Those eyes are on him, and he will  _not_  look at him for this.

 

“What’s happened to us, Killian? Used to be so close, you and I,” he says as he begins to stroke, slowly but surely waking him. “You’ve gone  _terribly_  soft.”

 

He wants to take the boy by the back of his hair and  _make_  him use that mouth for something much better than his idea of a ‘chat.’

 

“And your point is?” Killian rasps, opening his eyes at last to stare at something _other_  than Pan’s eyes. His ear, the trees behind him, the cut on his forearm —

 

Pan drags his tongue from the base of his cock to his tip, and Killian has to take his good hand and reach for the nape of his neck to keep him in place. He curses under his breath — cursing Peter Pan, but mostly, cursing himself.

 

“My point is, Killian,” he says between little nips at the head of his cock, “I _miss_ you. The merciless, the ruthless, the nasty  _you_. None of this silly hero business, risking your life for someone who only saw you as the pirate you are? Just for some meaningless kiss from some girl as lost as any one of my boys?”

 

He can't help a twitch of his fingers — they press slightly harder against the boy's neck, resisting the urge and the want for his nails to pierce through the skin there. Wants so badly to draw blood, to _hurt_ him. This time, Killian does lock their gazes, breathing steadily through parted lips. “Do  _not_  speak of her,” he hisses through his teeth.

 

 Pan smirks, too aware of how utterly immobile, how utterly _hopeless_  the man below him is. “You see, the Killian I knew would have  _seethed_  at the thought that his quest for vengeance would be hindered by little ‘ole me.” He tugs harshly at his cock, making the man roll his eyes shut, his brows knit tightly together. "And now? Just a mere  _mention_ of that woman gets him all hot and bothered.”

 

It’s said with a squeeze of the hand around his neck, his air passage closing deliberately. His breaths become more shallow as Pan moves to straddle him, having successfully bring him to a full erection with lust and desire and _hate_ all at once. Grinds his groin against his own and he wonders what is making him harder to breath — the friction or the hand that continually threatens to have him strangled dead. His hook moves to Pan’s side, digging at his skin, he’s certain (he _hopes_ ), to steady him. 

 

“Felix is dead — I’ve crushed his heart in the palm of my hand without so much a thought for his pain and the betrayal he must have felt. And soon, the rest of this town will follow suit. I’ll  _make_  you remember the darkest days of your life, Killian, and I’ll start with the Prince. Then Neal, and finally, your precious Emma Swan.”

 

To this, his gaze flickers at the boy’s face, fooled by his youth only for a fraction of a second. He tries to remain neutral because this is a test, and he’ll undoubtedly lose but  _fuck_  if he allows Pan to see through him that quickly. His own smile is forced, too smug for the position he’s in. They both know it, but at least Pan does him a favor by not pointing it out immediately. He doesn’t need to. “And you wonder why I’ve gone soft,” he jests, but he needs to get out of this situation. Has to do  _something_.

 

Pan huffs a laugh, pressing their bodies together. Hovers over his ear and nips at it, sending a shockwave right to his groin again. He rolls his hips, both wanting and knowing he can’t. The knot only grows tighter, and he feels the void within him opening up just to fill itself with new rage. Pan has played dirty in the past, but not like this.  _Desperate_  like fish out of water. But whereas a fish flops to return to the sea, Pan flops to destroy any and all threat around him.

  
  


“By the time I’m done with you, Killian, we'll be back to the way it was before.” Pan no longer has any care the buttons of his coat. He tears it apart as wolves surely would — he will eat right through the leather if it means it’ll hurt. “Just you, and me, and your destiny to  ** _kill_**.”


End file.
